


Two Birds in One Stone

by FlysWhumpCenter (TheDarkFlygon)



Series: Theatro Mundi (BTHB 2) [16]
Category: Inazuma Eleven, Inazuma Eleven: Orion no Kokuin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Attempted Murder, Blood, Friendship, Gen, Guilt, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Investigations, Light Angst, POV Third Person, Regret, Revenge, Suspicions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-10-20 19:17:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20680556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDarkFlygon/pseuds/FlysWhumpCenter
Summary: For once, Nosaka didn't quite guess what was ahead of and coming for him.Now, if he had been the only one affected by his fight against Orion... Then it'd have been much better than that, most certainly so.





	Two Birds in One Stone

**Author's Note:**

> _ The schemer got schemed. _
> 
> Written for my (second) Bad Things Happen Bingo card.  
https://morbusaegraquescribo.tumblr.com/post/186951923331/here-is-your-new-card-for-bad-things-happen-bingo  
Prompt: Revenge by Proxy + Nosaka (ft. Ichihoshi and Nishikage)
> 
> 5K words. 5 fucking thousands words on some overly edgy Inazuma fic. I guess that's the power of self-indulgent writing lmao  
I'm sorry for how purple prose-y this reads. I don't know what it is about me this September that makes me want to write abstract stuff.  
And why was it so weird to write dialogue for this? I wasn't writing this awkwardly on purpose I s w e a r  
About the fic itself, it's mostly Orion-compliant, aside from a couple details and me deciding the match against France should have happened. The idea made more sense in my head before I started actually writing it, but oh well. I'm more impressed by how much I've written for this than anything else, tbh.  
I hope you still like it! I really want to write more Inazuma, so this was still a blast to write, even if the last part is... kind of weird? I didn't think I'd take this direction, but I didn't want it to end on a depressing note. Inazuma wouldn't, so why should I? This is already way too edgy for its own good, better balance things out.  
I also may have forgotten they're supposed to be fourteen or something, but it's easy to forgot with the alt continuity honestly. It may also be fairly OOC, but it depends on how you see the characters, I suppose. In all cases, I have a lot of fun writing these three in particular, so you can expect more of them to come one of these days.

The biggest traps are the stealthiest, Nosaka learned against his will during the worldwide tournament.

It’s a stupid lesson to learn this late, way too late, in fact. It’s like observing a bird dying in his hands and realizing this wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t caused its death by accidentally crashing into it. Death he’s very nearly avoided causing recently, but even that detail doesn’t help relieve him. It was obvious, yet he didn’t take it as seriously as he should have, brushing it off as no bark and no bite…

He wishes he had gotten bitten instead, right as he stands in front of a door in a corridor, alone, half sunk in the darkness. His hands are bloodied, he doesn’t want to see them.

The events keep repeating in a loop, tinted with bitter regret and a desperate wish to redo everything again. He’s not used to the awful taste of failure and near-defeat: even if they’ve won in the end, it wasn’t thanks to him, quite the opposite way around. If Ichihoshi hadn’t been there at the right time and properly equipped –and that thought sends chills down his spine— who knows would have happened to him and Japan’s team next.

It’s not like he can do anything about it now, since time is a treacherous one-way road, but it doesn’t prevent his mind from looping around the question over and over again. After all this time spent scheming, spent elaborating complex plans and betting on the near-impossible, he’s finding himself stuck in one place, contemplating failure and decisions he could and should have taken.

But it’s easy to just regret and mop around, licking one’s wounds like an injured animal: fixing one’s mess is much harder than people make it out to be.

It started with the least subtle trap anyone from Orion could have laid before him: a message written in Cyrillic, all in Russian, as if trying to stir some primal fear he found himself missing. He wasn’t scared of Russia or their team, Perfect Spark was terrific as a team but they were no actual criminals. As such, he merely asked Ichihoshi to translate it for him, which the latter did with ease: as he had guessed, living and playing in Russia for a while had made Ichihoshi bilingual. He had to have talked with Froy Girikanan in one language anyway.

Ichihoshi didn’t seem very thrilled about the meaning of the piece of paper, eyebrows frowning and sweat pearling down his temples. The more he read, the worse his expression got, to a point where Nosaka was starting to wonder how bad these few words could have been. Cyrillic couldn’t have expressed in so few characters such violence that a former Orion agent would have been horrified about it.

“N-Nosaka,” he asked him with a hesitating voice, “where does this come from?”

“It was slipped under my door,” he replied with the least worry in the world. “I suspect it to be no more than an ill-tasted joke. It’s too easy.”

“I guess, but… This sounds very serious. We know the Orion Foundation has enough funds and means to do this to us.”

“Do what? I’m afraid you haven’t told me about the meaning of this message yet, Ichihoshi.”

“R-right…” He seemed more than reluctant to read it. “It’s more or less telling you to stop investigating into Orion’s business if you don’t want everyone around you to suffer the consequences. It also states it won’t hesitate to employ great means to reach that goal and that you should better off surrender to them right now. And… well… The rest is tasteless, to say the least…”

“Tasteless?”

“I… I’m not sure if I want to read out all of this, it’s a gruesome list of what they’d do to us…”

“I see,” Nosaka didn’t, really, but there was no way Ichihoshi would be able to withstand translating that for him. “Thank you for this anyway. I’m still convinced this is but a bluff, so you shouldn’t worry over it.”

“Got it…”

And he seemed to be right, for a couple days. The training sessions went perfectly smoothly, the match against France unfolded correctly (having to face not a single Orion player felt refreshing, for once). The team was growing and improving, welcoming Seishuu’s Mizukamiya in its ranks soon enough. More bickering amongst players, more discussions shared around a plate of dinner at the cafeteria, more scheming on his part against Orion. It was all fine, all so fine, and it’d obviously eventually resolve things in the long run.

He should have seen it coming, frankly, in retrospect. He should have sensed it was all too good, coming from the snake that was Orion, slithering in the dark with dagger-sharp fangs waiting for the opportunity to strike.

The first real weird instance that happened was already fitting of Ichihoshi’s intimidated stance when reading a simple piece of paper. People sometimes missing dinner had never been much of a weird thing: they’d show up later and grab a plate of what would be left, once they’d have been finished with whatever they were doing. It wasn’t like there wasn’t a microwave oven to heat up food that’d have gone cold since then.

Still, he had mentally noted down who was always showing up for dinner at the same hour, nagged by the message despite his best judgement. Some were fairly obvious: Iwato, Asuto, Umihara, (in fact, most of Raimon’s members) they’d never fail showing up at the time dinner started. Technically, Nishikage and he were part of them, mostly due to the message having gone around (and it was obvious that he’d tell his right-hand about that, wasn’t it?). One of the few other people who’d have never failed showing up early was also Ichihoshi, ever since his identities merged together.

As such, it was no less than odd for the latter not to show up when dinner was announced, on one day, soon before the match against Brazil. He was miffed about this fact, sure, but there was a possible rational explanation for it, so he didn’t insist against himself: if Ichihoshi was late, it may have been because he was researching information on the team they were going to go against soon and had forgotten to check the time it was, most likely too engulfed in searches to do so.

Yet, there was something off enough about this to make him almost bite his thumbnail. A few minutes to arrive late was all fine and not suspicious, but seeing everyone but someone who was always on-time show up, eat and leave was starting to make him worry. The message kept coming back to him, no matter how many times he forced himself to push it back into the depths of his mind, until it was almost unbearable and Nishikage himself made notice of how tense he had become throughout the evening.

In the end, they were the last to leave the cafeteria, and he decided to go search for Ichihoshi. It was weird that this boy had still not shown up in the cafeteria.

Their footsteps resonated in the corridors as he viciously searched for a familiar tuff of blue hair, for anything that’d give him an idea of where his aide had gone. His room was empty, no shared room had any trace of him in it and anyone he asked about their comrade’s whereabouts met him with confusion, worry or simply no information to give. No amounts of “Sorry, I’ve not seen him tonight yet, I’ll make sure to tell you if I see him” would give him an idea of where to head next, but at least, that was confirming this was indeed suspicious and not just his mind rendered unable to rationalize little things.

Seeing a trail of blood made his go cold, though. Before he realized it, he had started running in the corridors, forgetting everything around him, until the zigzagging lines stopped in a darker corner of the establishment and he was faced with what must have been matching the lines Ichihoshi hadn’t dared saying in out-loud Japanese.

Not that his unconscious body would have been able to do so either.

Nosaka wasn’t _that_ used to the sight of blood, this much he was discovering when coming across this disaster of a vision, a nauseating stench of iron immediately reaching his head and making it spin for a moment. In a sharp reflex, almost forgetting he wasn’t alone in this mess, he ordered Nishikage to call for help in a hurry and kneeled next to the body drenched in red, still liquid enough to taint his hands as he tried to make sure his comrade wasn’t dead, observing the surroundings as he searched for a pulse and exhaled a sight of relief when feeling one.

It was a sinister sighting he got forced to face. Sinking in the night’s darkness, barely lit by the emergency alarms, the faraway lights of nearby corridors and the stars and moon by the window, was Ichihoshi, hands covered in his own blood, a stainless exacto knife discarded nearby and a flare of murder to it all. This was gratuitous and needlessly violent, and his eye couldn’t help but spot in the darkness a paper with Cyrillic written on it.

It wasn’t a mere coincidence.

By a miracle, they didn’t lose Ichihoshi that night, saved in extremis by a blood transfusion and a few stitches. He was clearly not in a playing condition from the incident, yet his recovery was announcing itself to be a quick one: he had actually not lost that much in the corridor. More scare than harm, he supposed.

That was a relief Nosaka didn’t dare make obvious to the outside of his mind.

It was ashamed and shameful that he presented himself in front of a hospital door on the day after. He insisted on being alone, leaving Nishikage behind (who could wait for him or just do his own thing, he wouldn’t have minded either way), and entering the room with heavy footsteps and even heavier thoughts swirling in his mind. In his pocket, one of the reasons he was there. One of the reasons he was ashamed of being here too.

He had inspected every corner of the hospital corridors he had walked through to get there, just in case. He had also learnt some Cyrillic before coming, but that wasn’t to transcribe anything: it was only so he wouldn’t get a room number wrong. He couldn’t risk asking a receptionist, so better do that by himself and not risk anyone’s life in the process again. One endangered comrade was far than enough for a trickster resorting to cryptic messages. A trickster that made him feel unsafe enough for everyone around him and himself that he couldn’t even ensure himself of anyone’s safety anymore.

Scheming against someone he knew the face and modus operandi of was easy. It had always been easier to point holes in a known person’s plans and means than some unknown mask smirking upon them with contempt. He couldn’t come up with an actual rebuttal with how little information: even the handwriting wouldn’t get them anywhere. The cleanliness of the knife found at the scene indicated this person had more than likely gotten rid of any DNA possible, hiding their track like a meticulous mind.

For the first time, Nosaka felt unable to do anything real against a situation he should have been able to do something in. It was a wit’s match, after all: there was no reason for him to be this paralyzed by difficulty when he had always been capable of winning his previous chess matches. Suddenly, he tasted powerlessness and it made him go restless. Not even kicking a ball was emptying his mind of the worry.

When he eventually pushed the handle of the door and entered the room, he was surprisingly greeted by a smiling Ichihoshi, his skin barely paler than usual, waving at him slowly and gently. He didn’t quite know why he couldn’t find any resentment in his teammate’s eyes or demeanour but brushed that side for the moment being: there had to be an explanation and he could just wait for it. Patience was key in a situation where he wasn’t in control. For now, that was: after all, being patient and resisting the assault would provide him with an opportunity eventually, wouldn’t it?

He sat next to Ichihoshi, studying in rapid glances his condition from he could see. An intravenous injection in the left wrist, a bag of blood; another in the forearm, of something else, either painkillers or antibiotics, maybe nutriments. No way to tell for sure, so he skipped to the next element. Bandages on the chest, from what he could see: made sense. He couldn’t see any other limb, but neither arm bore anything that wasn’t clothing, so—

“Ah,” Ichihoshi suddenly spoke up, “I got told it was just a deep scratch. I wasn’t stabbed or anything.”

Wait, had he just somehow read his thoughts?

“I see. I’m glad it wasn’t as grievous as we thought it was. Speaking of which, how are you feeling?”

“I’m fine! Well, fine enough for someone who got attacked like that, but it’s not entirely unexpected, coming from Orion… Sorry for worrying you all like this. I’ll be fine soon, at least.”

“Will you be back for the next match?”

“I’m afraid not, but I’ll be there for the one against Italy, I promise.”

A smile. Too bad he’d have to crush it.

“Say, Ichihoshi”, he asked, “I know this is of bad taste and comes with bad timing, but could you translate something for me?”

The smile disappeared as soon as it appeared.

“The word left next to me, right? That’s the last thing I remember before passing out.”

“Exactly.”

As soon as he put it out of his pocket, left almost intact, Ichihoshi picked the paper in his hands and read through it, expression only slightly more relaxed than the first time around. His hands trembled, almost folding the paper under their press, until they untensed and their discussion resumed.

“_This is but the beginning, for I’ll hit two birds with one stone._ What’s odd is that it’s written in older Russian…”

“And the first wasn’t?”

“Not as far as I remember, at least… I wonder what they’re trying to mean with this. I don’t think it’s anything positive, though.”

“I doubt their intentions are any better than what’s happened to you anyway. It’s certain that you were the first ‘bird’, but who could be the second?”

“It has to be you, right, Nosaka?”

He paused for a minute to think about it. It only made sense for an Orion agent to get rid of their enemy’s commander, right? He had the flare of the Emperor of Tactics shining all around him in this tournament. He had to be the second target mentioned by the sombre message. There was no other way around, right?

“I suppose you’re right, Ichihoshi. Let’s be careful from then on.”

“Agreed.”

The day Ichihoshi got discharged from the hospital was, coincidentally, the day Japan went against Brazil in the FFI. As he had expected, there was Orion meddling threaded through the entire faceoff: acupuncture tactics against Mizukamiya choosing to pretend like they’d be doing the same. It all ended with Japan’s victory, a freed Brazilian team, and an injured right hand. Nothing quite out of the ordinary, even if the messages kept popping in his head, and his eye always glanced back at Ichihoshi sitting on the bench, as if it made him feel safer about it all.

Which was a mistake, but on the pitch, he couldn’t have focused on that. There was a match to play and much bigger stakes hanging over the grass, other people to free from the enemy’s clutches, a tactic to pay attention to. At least, he still had his talent for acting to his service, as to seal the deal and sell the lie. The victory absolutely mattered, as it had always done since the beginning of the tournament.

The blinding optimism of Inazuma Japan’s players almost intoxicated him into sharing their appeased mindset, almost made him forget about the poisonous fangs here to eat him alive in two vicious bites. _Two birds, one stone_. The vague wording of it still reminded him of nothing precise, but he still told Nishikage about it, brainstorming as they usually did, yet nothing came of it. Talk about running out of inspiration.

Both papers used were nothing but ordinary: white lined paper, standard printing paper that was then cut. Almost a bland modus operandi: it wasn’t original, but it was effective as not to be traced. Contacting the authorities came to his mind, but he quickly realized that’d end up putting all of them in danger in the long run. They never knew how brutal Orion could get on them. Oh, they had never known, in the end.

The following days untensed his shoulders and brought back some of his sleep. The lack of anything serious happening combined with the training for the match against Italy had taken most of his awake thoughts, trying to piece together a strategy to adopt before it even started, helped by Ichihoshi and his analyses. It was nothing out of the ordinary for them, quite frankly, as this had become their routine, yet something still felt off. The, perhaps baseless, threats still swung over his head like Damocles’ sword.

That was his main mistake there: being unable to tell precisely where the sword was going to fall.

A mistake he realized far too late, as it only came to his mind when discussing Italy’s team with Nishikage and Ichihoshi before the afternoon training session. It had been a casual conversation until the point where the latter wanted to check the paper again, thinking of something new for the investigation.

“What do you have in mind?” Nosaka asked as he put it out of his pocket and gave it away.

“I’m wondering who the second bird is again… We were sure it’d you, but nothing’s happened yet, and I wonder if it’s not because you’re always with someone else. I got attacked when I was alone.”

“That’s true. I suppose they’re only armed and prepared as to assault people when they can’t be spotted doing so.”

“Considering Orion’s influence and power,” Ichihoshi then pointed out a detail, pensive stance and eyes shining in a new light, “it’d be weird for them to be this careful. They could easily manipulate the situation to their advantage. I also still don’t understand why I wasn’t brought back to Orion either, if their motivation was to neutralize the people going against them. You’d think a traitor would have been a prime target to get rid of, but they left me to bleed out instead…”

“You’re rising a good point. I don’t think our enemy is actually siding with Orion. They seem more like opportunists profiting off from our conflict with the foundation.” He needed a third perspective on this, certain to have finally made a breakthrough in this blind investigation, so he turned to his usual aide. “What do you think of this, Nishi…”

There was no one to meet his eyes.

“Nishikage was called by Sekiya.” Ichihoshi couldn’t hide the amusement in his reaction. “I’m surprised you didn’t notice him leaving!”

It was weird for him not to notice someone leaving his side, but it wasn’t like it wasn’t planned. He did remember something about a check-up. And it wasn’t like Nishikage couldn’t defend himself, so even if he was alone, he’d be…

“Wait, Ichihoshi.”

Something was wrong.

“You were attacked inside our centre, right?”

“I…” A struggle to remember. “I was. Why?”

Nosaka suddenly rose from his chair, almost punching the table they were sitting around while he was at it.

“His _hand_! How could have I forgotten about his _hand_?!”

He left in a hurry, forgetting to drag a half-confused Ichihoshi with him on a chase against time. That was what had sounded so wrong with this entire ordeal…!

His thoughts were racing inside his head. He was a fool: the second bird had never been him. If they had wanted to get rid of the enemy, they’d have gotten to him first, wouldn’t have bothered leaving their former mole to die, as if giving him a chance to survive the attack. The cryptic Cyrillic had been a lie all along: someone wasn’t out for the team, he was out for him, and he had been a fool to believe otherwise. How in the hell had he taken so long to realize about what Ichihoshi had pointed out?

It was revenge by proxy. Someone was out for him and was using the worst means possible to reach their goals. A cold-blooded revenge whose devilish devise had to have made them be quiet about it, scared of the power of the Orion Foundation when it had never been implicated in the entire thing to begin with. That had been a lie and he had been too focused on something else to notice everything crashing down around him, just because the ceiling hadn’t started sweating dust above his head…!

Yet, Nosaka’s blood almost ran cold when he saw, in a different corner of their living quarters, his closest ally being put a knifepoint by the person who had most likely already attempted killing Ichihoshi.

The crimson peeking through the bandages on his right hand was all he needed to get furious at the other man and himself alike.

“No…” A strangled scream, stopped by the slash of a blade.

The unknown man barked some words in a language he didn’t understand, most likely Russian, while putting his available hand on his prey’s mouth. What was going on was absolutely cryptic, undecipherable to him: he lacked the linguistics to understand, he was finding out. Somehow, he had attracted the hatred of a man whom he didn’t even share a _language_ with.

Obviously, that meant there was no hope with talking with him: his words would never reach him, even on the most literary level of the saying. All there was to it now was trying to act against a situation where he was put at an obvious disadvantage. Not quite an easy feat to accomplish, would he say so himself, especially when trapped in such a catastrophe.

There was no air for a misplay on his part, so he analysed the situation. He was himself unarmed, couldn’t speak Russian, but was the object of the conspiracy. On the other side of a narrow corridor, a corner almost hidden away, Nishikage held at knifepoint and already bleeding and a man who didn’t speak a word of Japanese, armed with just this one knife he was using, face hidden by a mask. Calling for backup or leaving to get some would possibly result in Nishikage dying while he’d be gone or in front of his eyes. Yet, the lack of backup was an issue on both sides, so it was almost equal on that front. He only needed a hostage of his, a human shield to use, he supposed.

“Nosaka!!”

The echo of Ichihoshi’s voice made him turn around in a bolt, panic settling in for a moment. If the man ever heard someone else coming their way…

“Don’t,” he almost said, before hearing a muffled yelp coming from his side. Turned around, saw his friend bleeding from the chest, and didn’t need anything else.

Ichihoshi reached him in mere moments, breathless, a ball in his hands. Anxiety could be read all over his face, splattered on his eyes and brows, breath shaking. As soon as he came into the field of vision, the man started barking again, shooting his words like a machine gun, an aura of threat to them.

“A-ah…” Ichihoshi started mumbling, expression worsening.

“You understand what he’s saying, don’t you?” Nosaka asked, still in a hurry, putting all hopes on a comrade’s abilities.

“Y-yeah… It’s kinda hard to translate because he speaks so violently and so quickly, but he’s saying that you’ve ruined his life by interfering with Orion’s plans…” He gulped, hands trembling. “He’s also saying you’re next… We need to stop him as soon as possible!”

“Agreed,” he replied with his head turning back to the lone renegade. “Do you have a plan?”

“I…” Another gulp. “I don’t!”

He was getting impatient with all of this.

“_Fine_.”

Noticing a little space between the blade and the throat it threatened to slash, Nosaka picked the ball from Ichihoshi’s arms and calculated an angle as quickly as possible. He had only a couple seconds, if not frames, to have it hit as perfectly as possible, lives being on the line more than previously. Yet, he lacked the time to think about it, so he kicked the ball and hoped for the shoot to do as hoped.

A smirk drew itself on his face when the knife was launched away from the vicious hand, flying in the air, as the hostage freed himself and the blade fell back to the floor, clinking against the tiles. Not leaving the time to the man to react properly, he rushed to the latter, putting his foot as firmly as possible over the guilty wrist. If his intent wasn’t to directly cause pain, there was still a desire in him to do so festering inside his chest.

“Ichihoshi, go get some help, please,” he ordered as calmly as possible, even if the flame was becoming a fire by the moment.

“C-coming!”

Events after that passed by in a flash. Cries from his teammates, grunts from the assailant, panic, phone calls, sirens. The dopamine rush he had had when tackling the culprit had disappeared as soon as it had come, leaving him to just observe things from a distant point of view, trying to keep himself under control.

He walked mechanically out of the situation, rummaging through a sea of boggled thoughts. Coming after him was one thing: he expected it. Ichihoshi had been tasked with neutralizing him by Orion until fairly recently. However, coming after people close to him to get to him had nothing on that. While one could have argued Ichihoshi had always been a risk for being a former disciple of Orion, it couldn’t justify coming after Nishikage, who had merely been as much of an adversary of Orion as everyone else. Someone made personal what had always been a conflict of collectives and, to that, he may have wanted to punch a wall.

The door opens right next to him, reminding him to break away from his thoughts. It’s only been a couple hours at most since this entire disaster unfolded, and even then, he’s trying to convince himself it’s been longer than that. Well, even the best of lies won’t work in this situation, so he shakes his head and faces his captain, with whom he’s just had a talk.

Truth be told, Endou had never been the type to hold a grudge against a teammate, even when they had almost committed a crime. It wasn’t that Nosaka had been surprised to be immediately forgiven right after he had finished explaining everything with rage still trembling inside his throat, as it was but the opposite way around: he was more so astonished by Endou not sharing his point of view on the situation. In fact, faced with the anger of a captain whom hadn’t been informed about the message or neither of Ichihoshi or his theories on the matter, he had almost run out of words, yet defended his position anyway.

Endou’s opinions made sense, he has to admit. The smile and soft tap on his shoulder much less.

“He’s asked for you,” he tells him, a thumb pointing at the door frame. “You should speak to him yourself. See you later!”

On that, Endou takes his leave, leaving his secondary captain alone in the middle of a echoing corridor and a door that just has to have conveyed their conversation on the other side of the room.

Left with no choice, Nosaka takes a deep breath and enters. There is a galaxy of somewhat similar events where he wasn’t scared by having to confront Nishikage. Not even the tumour intimidated him into being unsure of the outcome of the conversation. However, all previous certitudes are now lying on the floor, because this isn’t the same as before: the situation has changed, his responsibilities too. Mind racing to process through the memories, trying not to succumb to anxiety, he makes his way in.

The discussion about that tumour keeps nagging at him, but he quickly busts out what allows it to do so. Put into perspective, it only affected him: even if he had betrayed Nishikage’s trust by hiding that away from him like he had hid it away from the world until that point, it had never affected Nishikage himself. This, however, is a different situation: should have he guessed not to have been the second bird, this would have never happened. Injustice has always made his blood boil, from the day he was conscious enough to understand the concept, and knowing he’s partially responsible for it this time around makes him want to go back in time and defy the odds to do so.

Instead, he’s just faced with the fatality of facing his own misplays in this messed-up chess game.

He doesn’t sit on the chair he can guess to still be warm. He only feels like staying up, so he doesn’t have to prevent his eyes from noticing every detail that bothers him. Still, he’s a diplomat of sorts, a representative of Japan to the rest of the world and the captain whenever Endou isn’t on the field. He should be able to talk to a teammate, especially one as close as this one.

“I’ll admit I don’t know what you expect from me,” he starts, unsure himself of what he’s supposed to do right now, scoffing at himself with an excuse for a laugh. “I don’t know what to say, or rather, how to say it.”

Silence on the other side of the line. He doesn’t look up to see what this translates into visually.

“I should have been more careful than that. I blindly assumed I’d be next and forgot they could get to you instead. You were only collateral damage in all this. For that, I’m deeply sorry. It shouldn’t have been this way.”

He crosses his arms and tries not to sulk. It’d be a dumb thing to do on his part. He’s guilty as charged, doesn’t deserve to be the pitied one. Not that either of them would appreciate _pity_ of all feelings. He believes what he’s feeling is sympathy and not dirty pity, perhaps closer to empathy, but in the end, it’s all words and nuances for nothing. Overthinking what to call something won’t fix the things he’s allowed breaking.

“Nosaka.”

The calm tone in Nishikage’s voice almost makes him jump, eyes now on his teammate. To his surprise, he gets greeted by what he thinks is a _smile_.

“What is it?” He gathers himself in time for a reply.

“It’s fine.”

Short and straight to the point. As expected, coming from Nishikage. Still, the sentiment behind it is more perplexing.

“You… do mean it, don’t you?”

“Of course.”

Nosaka feels a smile coming to his face, inexorable.

“Well then. You don’t mind having been attacked because you were my aide?”

“No.”

There’s just something so much more convincing to a dry, single word, than any long speech he could be given.

“Hearing you say this gives me relief. I’ll be more careful next time so that doesn’t happen again. This was already one time too many.”

“Don’t beat yourself over this, Nosaka. It’s fine. I understand.”

“…Thank you. In fact, thank you for always being there.”

“That’s nothing.”

Silence rises up again and he goes to finally sit on the chair, whose gone cold. The air isn’t as heavy anymore, yet they don’t exchange words: they’re silent and content in being so, it seems, and he doesn’t have the words to break through it. There is nothing to be added anyway: they’ve made their cases, their points and, in the end, he gets to postpone guilting over all this sometime later, when he’ll have a clearer mind. When the heat of the moment will have passed, when the optimism of the team will intoxicate him again and he’ll have his wounds patched up by the sun.

He likes the calm between two storms much more than as he thought he would until now.


End file.
